Glory
by forthelongestday
Summary: Sometimes Flynn feels like the only words coming out of his mouth are 'I don't understand' and 'how could you'


Glory

When he finally gets Yuri alone, Flynn thinks that maybe, just _maybe_, things might be able to right themselves and come back to the way they're supposed to be.

They're out in the plains south of Aurnion. The sun beats down on them in unrelenting waves, at odds with the sharp wind lashing at their cheeks. Flynn can't decide if he's being baked alive inside his armor or freeze-dried. He's about to say as much—anything to break the silence that isn't begging, accusations, or any of the other thousand ways to pick a fight—but there's a lightness to Yuri's posture that stops him mid-breath. He's known Yuri since they were nothing more than babies; the context of that familiarity has shifted and evolved over the years, but the foundation has remained. They know each other better than they know themselves. At least, Flynn always thought so.

Yuri is different now; he carries a self-assurance Flynn isn't sure how to classify, and it's strange to think that he's finally coming into his own. Yuri doesn't need Flynn like he used to, not like Flynn still needs Yuri. Lately he's felt like that aspect of their relationship got flipped around, too. Who would have guessed that Flynn would wind up being the insecure, needy one to Yuri's strong and stable presence?

The time apart has done some good, even if Flynn doesn't want to admit it. He wasn't at his best during the months they spent at odds with each other—both before and after Ragou—and it took him far too long to understand why. He'd allowed himself to be propelled by desperation, let waves of fear and doubt sweep him along and color his judgement. He'd stopped believing in his friend and started placing far too much stock in his perceived high-ground. Yuri had made mistakes—there was no arguing it—but Flynn wasn't perfect, either. He still wondered what would have happened without Alexei in the background praising his dedication, pulling his strings like a puppeteer. Or worse, what would have happened if Yuri hadn't seen Alexei's manipulations for what they were and put an end to them before the situation got even _worse_.

They argue, but it's comforting in its way. They can still throw barbs back and forth without so much as pausing to think. All Flynn wants to say is that he _knows_. He knows Yuri and he knows the Knights. He knows Estellise and the way she can dig her way under anyone's skin and talk them into anything in less than a minute. He knows why Yuri made the choices he did, even if he doesn't agree with them. He knows all the little things Yuri's still holding back because he can't take the jab with Flynn so close to the edge. Above all else, though, Flynn wants to deliver a swift punch to Yuri's face and _make_ him acknowledge that he knows _everything_ Yuri has done—good and bad—and there is more good there than either of them want to admit.

When Yuri draws his sword, cocky and boastful as ever, Flynn feels calm. He feels right after living upside-down ever since the day Yuri abandoned their plans and never looked back. Yuri smirks, arches an eyebrow in invitation, and Flynn thinks all those desperate pleas of 'how could you have left the Knights for this?' really meant 'how could you have left me alone after all we'd been through together?'

Flynn doesn't want to fight, except there's an irrational, searing part of him that _does._ He's a mess of contradictions, and he knows only one way to sort them out. He draws his blade and matches Yuri's stance, then decides it's pointless to hold back when Yuri never does. He makes the first move.

It's a good match—swift parries and vicious swipes traded back and forth at an exhausting pace—and it is the first one Flynn has ever lost. He might have felt raw about it if he could focus on anything other than the pleasant burn in his limbs. It seems there's a first time for everything, and no matter how much he's always feared the unknown, it isn't so bad. The world feels a bit steadier with his loss—like it won't topple over and implode if he makes a misstep. Even if he falters there's always Yuri, waiting to pick up and move on.

In some ways it feels like Flynn's matched all that growing Yuri's done since leaving the Knights in a condensed, accelerated, downright brutal timetable. He still has a ways to go before he learns the quiet pride that has Yuri standing tall and shrugging off all his accomplishments.

Flynn tugs at his armor but doesn't shed it—it's not worth the effort—and collapses in the grass of the plains. In moments like these he feels like such a child, letting loose all his anger and aggression into the swing of his blade because he doesn't know any other way to get it out, but the sounds of Yuri catching his breath and stretching his arms makes him feel better about it. They're the same, always have been and always will be, no matter how different they grow. In the end, Yuri wants the same things he does; he holds the same ideals aloft as a reminder of what he's working toward. Their routes may have veered apart, but they'll be standing at the same place in the end.

They stay quiet until the sun starts to sink below the horizon. Flynn's adrenaline starts to burn off, and it's not long before he's asking questions he's already posed a hundred times, knowing he's not likely to get the answer he wants today, either.

"Why did you leave?" It's harder than he thought it'd be to leave 'me' off the end. Now that he's accepted the wound for what it was, there's no more denying it.

Yuri's answer is sharp and clipped. "You know why."

He doesn't. He doesn't know and he can't begin to comprehend it, and he would _never_ have walked away from Yuri the way Yuri did to him. "I've never known why."

Yuri leans his head back and watches the molten clouds threatening to swallow them whole. "Because."

Flynn doesn't accept the cop-out, but he also refuses to dwell on it. He stares up at the sky, relishing the lush grass beneath him and his friend, at last, by his side again. It's a nice enough moment that he's considering letting the subject drop. It'd be the first time for that, too, but they've had a lot of firsts lately.

Yuri sighs. It takes another full minute before he speaks. "That life wasn't for me. I'd like to say I was sorry to leave, to leave _you_ when you were the only constant in my life and we'd sworn to change this sorry world together, but I wasn't. It was the right thing for me to do. I _like_ the way things turned out—you know, except for that monstrous thing in the sky trying to gobble us up. You're better at fixing the system, anyway. Me? I don't have the patience for it; I'm good for clearing your way."

Flynn thinks that's the end of it, and he's nearly convinced himself not to ask again—but Yuri holds a breath, releases it into a puff of smoke in the cool air, and keeps talking.

"I left because no matter how much I tried to convince myself otherwise, you weren't enough to make me stay."

Flynn thinks that should probably hurt more than it does, and for half a second he basks in the startling certainty that he's dangling off the edge of a cliff by his fingernails. He should think carefully about how to reply. He should test for footholds, feel out Yuri's exact mood, and gauge how well any response will go over at this particular moment in time. Instead, he swallows back all his doubt and lets go. "Is that right?"

In a bout of uncharacteristic sobriety, Yuri glances over and mutters. "It was a hard truth to accept."

"Do you regret it?" It's something he shouldn't ask; Yuri's already said that he doesn't. Sometimes Flynn feels like the only words coming out of his mouth are 'I don't understand' and 'how could you?'

"You know I don't. But sometimes…" Yuri tilts his head, glances towards the clouds and the Adephagos and whatever else is up there. "I guess there are a few regrets, in a way. Repede was hard to deal with. He missed you."

"I see. _Repede_." This time Flynn can't reel in his chuckles.

"Yes, Repede." Yuri sets his jaw and refuses to say any more on the matter.

"Well, for the record, I missed Repede, too."

Yuri hums his understanding of what is left unsaid without ever breaking his gaze from the clouds.

"You could come back, if you wanted." Flynn almost wants the Adephagos to drop out of the sky and devour him for saying it. They don't play like that, not so obviously. It really is too bad that he can't help it sometimes. "I know you _don't_ want to, but if you did… There's always a place for you here, Yuri."

Yuri doesn't speak for an entirely too long, too awkward span. Right when Flynn is about to make an even bigger fool of himself, Yuri tilts his head back and stares at the little town they're starting to build in their abandoned corner of Hyponia. "I won't rejoin the Knights, but I will come back. It's nice here. I like it."

It's a better reaction that Flynn could have ever hoped for. He feels vaguely unsettled, like suddenly there are all these possibilities floating around that he'd never been brave enough to chase down for fear of repeating past mistakes over and over again. He feels nauseated and _alive_ and so very terrified of all the anomalies that could spawn from this one afternoon in the sun with Yuri. If it's okay to lose, to be less than perfect and impenetrable, then what the hell has he been doing all these years keeping his tongue in check while Yuri lets his lash out? All that restraint hasn't earned him half the ground he's gained in this single afternoon.

It's with a sudden need to gamble strewn through the desire to get back to more familiar territory that he loops the conversation right back to the beginning. Yuri's answer will always be the same—except maybe one day it won't be, and Flynn wants to believe that particular first will come eventually. "I wish you would at least let me tell everyone the truth. I wouldn't be where I am without you. I don't feel right capitalizing off of your deeds."

"No." Yuri doesn't even sound irritated over it anymore. Rehashing the same conversation thirty times can do that. "I don't need any of that nonsense. You and I, we're where we are meant to be. And while we're at it, make the Tweedle-Squad stop trying to recruit me."

Flynn tries to hold his laughter in, but it's a lost battle. "I'll admit, I don't feel particularly motivated. Their reports are beyond entertaining. Besides, it's not my fault if they got it into their heads to keep at it once they got going. Perhaps you should consider it punishment for letting me believe you were dead for weeks on end before tumbling out of the sky to show me up at my own battle?"

"Ah." Yuri tilts his head and smiles. "I was wondering if there was any of that left in you. For a while there I thought the Knights squashed it all out."

Flynn rolls his eyes. "Just because _you_ are incapable of restraining yourself doesn't mean the rest of us are, too."

The ease of their conversation sinks into his skin. For the first time in years, Flynn feels steady; nothing and no one can shake him. Even if he's not sure of his route, or Yuri, or how things between them will stand when all is said and done, he's sure of his path. He knows where he's going and that no matter how much Yuri protests or hides in the shadows along the way, they'll wind up at the same place. All those detours in-between just don't matter as much as they used to.

"I restrain myself just fine." Yuri grumbles the half-hearted protest to the sky, humor wound through his tone.

Flynn smiles. "You deserved it, anyway."

"Well, you're not wrong about that."

Yuri grins, and in that moment Flynn knows they're going to be okay. Who knows, maybe Yuri's right. Maybe it's better this way.


End file.
